


Green Eyes

by Path



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 21:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spades Slick has green eyes, and Snowman wants them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in the end by two sources:  
> (http://astharose.deviantart.com/art/Bluh-Bluh-257743739) and  
> (http://wachtelspinat.tumblr.com/post/6953261345/something-in-your-other-eye-slick-collab-with)
> 
> Thanks for being such great artists, guys

Your eyes are green, or at least they were, when you had both of them.

Your Queen used to taunt you, back in the day. The entire world was black and white and violet, but you always had to be different, didn't you? As if you chose them on purpose, as if it wasn't some freak glitch like the one that made you the only man on Derse who didn't care to do his job like a happy little ant. Nothing about you was safe, so your odd eyes were just one more thing, but that, like everything else, just felt enormously unfair, one of the few things you could never change even if you wanted to.

You always hated green, and now you hate it more than ever. Now it's green every night, green in your dreams echoing in your head behind closed green eyes. Or rather, green eye, because it wasn't so long ago she took one out for you.

They had to get Boxcars to hold you down because you were so bloody and livid you'd let nothing stop you from getting her neck in your hands and your blades into her repeatedly. He held you down and Droog calmly told you it'd be a lot better with anaesthetic, but you swore you'd kill him too, you'd turn your back on him and everyone who stood beside him if they didn't let you get up and get revenge right the fuck then. And Droog held his pistol and straddled your legs and watched unmoved like a sick bastard as he had the Felt's medic take out your eye and sew you up again.

Your entire face was slick, as was the floor and the Felt man's hands, by the time he finished and Droog let him escape into the green warren of the Manor.

What a hellhole. You dream of it now at night too, endless crooked green passages turning at crazy angles and completely unmappable. It seeps into your brain through your usual nightmares of home and your heady dreams of power that inevitably turn into one of the other two disasters. And then there's her. You don't go a night without her seeping through your subconscious and wrecking up the place.

You're in her room now, actually against all odds having found the place she's set up for herself in this green anthill, recognizable oddly through its simplicity. Not something you could have said back then. None of the queenly trappings here, but none of the alien freakish architecture the Felt go in for. It's just dark and quiet and doesn't have that hellish humming just barely audible as soon as the Manor comes into view.

There's a mirror on the wall over the fireplace, mostly concealed with a heavy black cloth and a few things laid in front of it. You look into it for a second, one green eye reflecting your usual baleful glare in the middle of the emptiness of Snowman's room. She's not here, and you almost leave before you see what else is on the mantelpiece.

It's in some sort of liquid, suspended, hideous and deformed; the green pupil is still there though despite the ruptured surface and the wound that makes your stomach almost give again. It has no choice but to stare wide-eyed and empty into nothing; caught in the moment after you last used it. You'd thrown your head back, both eyes achingly wide, and screamed your throat raw.

Your face is healed over, but the scar still pulls.

"Miss me, Slick?" comes a soft voice, silkily gentle.

You turn with all the horror you were just remembering. "I miss that," you growl, and gesture jerkily behind you at the mantelpiece.

"I did too," she murmurs, "but now I get to look at it every day."

You find yourself incapable of summoning your usual mantling rage as she approaches. You hate her, you hate her more than the world, but your stomach is full of sick fear. Smoke trails from her cigarette holder, dangling loosely in her fingers. For once your eye is drawn to something that isn't her.

Her other hand trails gently down your jaw. "Slick," she breathes, "think you've got something in your eye."

Terror falls into you like a rock into a river. Blind and haunted by the Felt in their hellish mansion, you'd never escape, if you could even find your way out of this room. With one eye you're wounded and angry; with none you're a laugh. You throw her off you and, fuck valour, you run. Her laughs echo forever down the rabbit-warren hallways.

You get back home eventually, though the Manor was even harder to navigate than usual, spooked by laughs and fear of her pursuing. You splash some water on your face so you won't puke in the sink; watching in the mirror as it trails down your face helps calm you down some. But meeting your own eye doesn't- still green and still there, because like everything else in your life but worse, you know that as long as you've got it she'll want it.

You don't go back to Felt Manor for a long time, and when you do, you bring the Crew.


End file.
